


Snap

by PFL (msmoat)



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 23:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3095783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoat/pseuds/PFL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starsky thinks he might want to deepen his relationship with Hutch, but he's afraid of hurting him, so he wants to maneuver Hutch into making the first move or indicating his interest.  Hutch thinks he might want to deepen his relationship with Starsky, but he's afraid of hurting him,  so he wants to maneuver Starsky into making the first move or indicating his interest. Neither is successful. Huggy Bear is rolling his eyes at them. And then Kira enters their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laura_McEwan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_McEwan/gifts).



> Written for the 2014 S&H Secret Santa Exchange

It was a busy night in The Pits, but that didn't stop Huggy from noticing Starsky had been sitting near the end of the bar, on his own, nursing a bottle of beer for the past half hour. He made his way through the crowd and leaned on the bar next to Starsky. "Where's Beautiful Blondie?"

"Don't know." Starsky took a long swallow from the beer bottle.

Huggy raised his eyebrows. "Since when do you not know?"

"He's on a date, how do I know where he's gone?"

"Well, who's he out with?"

Starsky studied the beer bottle. " Dunno."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean I don't know!" Starsky waved his arm. "Some chick he met at a grocery store, of all places."

"Oh, Well, that's good, isn't it? It's been a while since he's—" He stopped speaking when Starsky glared at him. "What?"

"Hutch is no good at these casual meetings when he's doing other things. Remember Diana Harmon? I rest my case."

"That was a one time—"

"He married Vanessa. I wouldn't exactly call her a stable personality."

Huggy tilted his head. "Hutch met Vanessa…?"

"While he was buying a suit. He's better focused on one thing."

Huggy narrowed his eyes. "Or when you vet his girlfriends?"

"Exactly!" Starsky waved his hand again, then hunched over his beer bottle.

"So…you're not happy about this date."

"It's none of my business." Starsky's voice was flat.

"Really? You two always check out each other's girlfriends."

"Yeah, well, not this time." Starsky finished the beer. "Get me another?"

"If you want, but it's not like you to sit in here alone drinking. No date of your own?"

Starkey shrugged, his eyes still on the beer bottle.

"No model ship to construct? No—"

"I couldn't settle."

Huggy walked around the end of the bar, retrieved a beer bottle for Starsky, took off the cap, and set it down in front of him. "What's up?"

"Nothing." Starsky reached for the bottle, but Huggy whisked it away from him.

"Uh-uh."

Starsky scowled. "Hug—"

Huggy set the bottle down again. "Come on, tell your Uncle Huggy what's bothering you."

"If you're my uncle—"

"Figure of speech. Sometimes it helps to talk, you know that. What's your dilemma?"

Starsky looked at Huggy, looked at the bottle, then sighed. "It's complicated. Okay. See…say there's this guy and he has a…car I'm interested in. Only I don't want him to know I'm interested because what if I'm wrong? I mean, I want to test drive it, only—"

"What happened to the red tomato?"

Starsky blinked. "Nothing happened to it."

"Then why do you want a car?"

"I don't want a car."

"Well, then, why are you—?”

Look, it's a _hypothetical_ car."

"You want a hypothetical car?"

"Yeah." Starsky nodded.

"And you want to test drive it without the guy knowing that's what you want to do?"

Starsky smiled. "Yeah. Exactly! That's what I have to figure out. A strategy for that."

"Why don't you just tell him you want a test drive?"

Starsky looked at the beer bottle. "It's…"

"Complicated."

"Yeah." Starsky drank more of the beer.

Huggy shook his head. Starsky was one of the most straight-forward, bulldoze-his-way-through-anything guys he knew. Except when he wasn't. And that usually involved Hutch. For a moment, Huggy held still. Shit. Had the penny finally dropped? He looked at Starsky, taking in the tension in his body and the frown as he appeared to be studying the beer bottle. If that was it, then what the hell was he supposed to say? 

A voice interrupted his thoughts: "Huggy?" It was Anita waving at him by the cash register at the other end of the bar.

Huggy waved at her, then looked back at Starsky. "I gotta go."

Starsky nodded, then pushed the beer away. "Me, too. I've probably had enough, huh?"

"Hey." Huggy touched Starsky's arm as he stood up. "Just tell him."

Starsky looked at him with an odd mix of confusion, fear, and self-consciousness on his face. He had never known Starsky to care one bit what anyone thought of him. Unless it was Hutch, of course. 

"Huggy!" It was Anita again. 

"Really," Huggy said, then left Starsky to attend to his business.

*

oooOOOooo

*

_Just tell him._

Easy enough for Huggy to say, but he didn't understand, didn't _know_ — An image of the understanding in Huggy's eyes flashed in Starsky's brain, but he veered away from the thought. Huggy couldn't know what Starsky himself could barely understand. 

He wanted Hutch. He wanted to…go to _bed_ with Hutch. Bed optional. Oh, hell. Starsky was in the car outside Hutch's apartment, waiting for him to come down so they could get in to work. For once, he didn't mind if Hutch wanted to take his time, pruning his plants or whatever. He had to get his thoughts under control. Dammit. It had just…happened, as near he could figure. One minute, Hutch was his partner, his best friend, the person he loved most in the world—but in a…a _guy_ sort of way—and the next, Starsky found himself wanting to run his hands all over Hutch, kiss him, fuck— Shit. This wasn't helping get his thoughts under control. He knew it hadn't really happened suddenly. For one thing, he'd always known how attractive Hutch was. He'd even, if he was honest, gotten a buzz from it before. Well, who wouldn't? There were times when the combination of golden hair, golden skin and blue eyes just melted you. He'd seen it work on people before, why not on him? You just responded to beauty, but that was all it was—an automatic response. Except now it was far more than that, and it was fast becoming a problem.

If he had to pin it down, then it was when they'd found out about John Blaine. As always, thinking of the man caused a combination of pain and regret to well up in him, along with some residual anger. How could he not have known? He understood why Blaine hadn't told him—of course he understood. But… Ah, there was no use thinking about it. John had made his choices, and they'd destroyed him and hurt his family. At least he had no one but Hutch in his life, really. And that was, maybe, the problem. Hutch's words had got him to thinking. It hadn't been Blaine's homosexuality that had got to him as much as the secrecy, the feeling of betrayal, and the seediness of his death. He wasn't stupid, he knew Blaine had had little choice in the matter, but he couldn't help how he felt about it. But…it had been like a door opening in his brain. He spent most of his time with Hutch. He _wanted_ to spend most of his time with Hutch. Sure, he loved women, had even thought about marriage with Terry and Rosie but…he'd also somehow always seen Hutch as part of that, too. He couldn't imagine life without Hutch. He'd nearly lost him enough times to know that he never wanted to spend a day without him in his life.

And that was the problem, wasn't it? Because now that this door was open, now that he'd begun to wonder what it would be like to have sex with Hutch… It hadn't turned him off. Once he'd got past the first shock of thinking about it, it had done exactly the opposite. He wanted to try it. He wanted to _know_. But Hutch was too precious to risk. He didn't think Hutch would turn from him, but he might turn him down. Kindly, but firmly. He could just hear him: _Starsk. You know I love you, but…_ No, he didn't want to hear that. But, equally, he didn't want Hutch to…what? Indulge him. Hutch had been a bit too sure of his worldliness when he'd talked to him about John. Starsky didn't want any more of that. He didn't want Hutch's indulgence, he wanted… What?

That was the real issue. He wasn't sure. He couldn't be sure until they tried it. But the worst case scenario—the absolute worst case—would be if they went to bed and Starsky hated it and Hutch loved it. What if he couldn't do it? What if this was all just some fantasy and reality would kill it like it had when he was a kid and he'd gone on that stupid horse ride and found that riding a trotting horse was a lot less fun in reality than it seemed on the TV. He had to be sure before he up-ended their lives, but of course that was impossible. So, he'd ignored the desire for as long as he could, but that wasn't working anymore. For one thing, Hutch had started looking at him in such a way that Starsky knew he'd noticed that Starsky wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders. 

_Just tell him._

There was never anything he couldn't tell Hutch. Or never had been. But even in the best case scenario, where Hutch said yes and took it in the right spirit, and they found out together… He didn't want Hutch indulging him. So, they had to go into this equally. Starsky lifted his head, staring out the windshield. That was it. This had to be mutual. Equal. So, _Hutch_ had to make the first move. He had to maneuver Hutch into making the first move. And, right on time, he saw Hutch finally emerge from Venice Place. Starsky grinned at him, and saw Hutch frown a little, but it didn't matter. He knew what he had to do now. No one knew Hutch the way he did. How hard could it be?

A week later, as he drove them towards Metro, Starsky knew he needed to reassess his plan. Hutch didn't seem to be getting the point behind Starsky's extra touching, playful scuffles, or laughing at his every joke. In fact, the latter had just led to Hutch asking him if he was feeling all right. Starsky thought back over all the years they'd been friends and wondered just when they'd started hugging and touching and horsing around so much that Hutch couldn't tell when Starsky was _flirting_. It was extremely frustrating, especially when it seemed as if he was now perpetually turned on. If Hutch had noticed _that_ , he hadn't said one word about it. In desperation, Starsky had finally invited him out for dinner, only to find Hutch organizing a double date, where he'd finally met Hutch's grocery store lady—Caris or Carrie or whatever it was. Maneuvering Hutch was turning out to be a whole lot more difficult than he had anticipated.

"All units, 415 in progress, 326 North Marshall."

Starsky glanced at Hutch, who reached for the radio. "Zebra Three, we are in the vicinity and responding." Hutch put the light and siren on as Starsky increased the Torino's speed. They quickly arrived at the scene, a mixed area of residential buildings and businesses. A crowd had gathered at one end of the block. Starsky stopped the car by the crowd.

A heavy-set man with greying hair ran up to them as they got out of the car. "He says he's going to destroy my business, you've got to do something!" He gestured towards the building across the street which appeared to house a copier business on the ground floor. In the distance, Starsky heard sirens.

"All right, calm down," Hutch said. "Who's going to destroy your business?"

"Mayer—Jeff Mayer. I fired him about a week ago. Now he's back with a gun!" 

"Is everyone out?" Hutch leaned in close to the man. 

"Yes—he chased us out. He says he's going to burn it down!"

A squad car turned into the street at the far end of the block. Starsky caught Hutch's eye, nodded. Hutch turned and ran across the street to the building. 

"He's got a grenade!" The man suddenly blurted out.

"What?" Starsky rounded on him.

"He said he'd use it to blow—"

"You couldn't have told us that earlier? Hutch!" But Hutch had already disappeared into the shop. Starsky grabbed hold of the man, eliciting a yelp. "Tell them to clear the area." He gestured towards the two men who were getting out of a squad car, then he followed Hutch. There was no one in the main room as he entered the shop.

"No! You don't want to do that." It was Hutch's voice.

"Stay back!" That voice sounded frantic, young. 

Starsky spied an open door and ran to it, finding himself in a series of connected offices. Hutch was in the second office, hands spread, talking to a young man who was pointing a gun at him. Starsky pulled his gun out and stepped forward through the doorway to the office. "Put it down."

The gunman swung towards him. Starsky crouched, ready to fire, and caught movement in the corner of his eye as Hutch charged forward. Hutch knocked the gun from the young man's hand, and knocked him out as well, but Starsky caught sight of the object that had fallen from the gunman's other hand. "Grenade!" Starsky yelled and slammed into Hutch, trying to both drive him to the far side of the room and cover him at the same time. But Hutch was turning and twisting in Starsky's grasp, as if he was trying to cover Starsky as well. They ended in a heap against the wall, heads down, muscles tensed as they waited for the explosion.

It didn't come. Starsky lifted his head from Hutch's shoulder and peered towards the grenade. It lay on the floor between them and the unconscious gunman. "It's a dud."

"What?"

Starsky looked at Hutch. He was partially on top of Hutch, his side pressed against the wall. He grinned. "A dud."

"Maybe he didn't pull the pin."

"Maybe. The important thing is, we ain't dead."

"That's true." Hutch smiled.

"Although you nearly gave me a heart attack, jumping that guy with the gun."

"Ah, well." Hutch ducked his head. "You were a good distraction."

The warmth in Hutch's smile was like a spear to Starsky's heart. HIs stomach flipped over, and inevitably, his cock twitched. It had happened before—adrenaline and emotions working together to give him a hard-on. Always before he'd kept something of a distance between himself and Hutch. This time, after days of trying to tell Hutch without telling him, he didn't move away, but he did lower his forehead to Hutch's shoulder.

"Hey." Hutch's voice was soft. "We made it, Starsk."

"Yeah."

He heard Hutch give a sort of odd laugh. "Sorry. Adrenaline and fear." He shifted under Starsky, and that's when he realized Hutch was hard as well. 

Starsky lifted his head. "Hutch…" He stared at Hutch. He could move—show him. He knew how sensual Hutch was, how ready to follow where passion led. It seemed to him there was lust in Hutch's expression, but also…embarrassment? Fear? This wasn't the right place. Hutch would blame himself. And he couldn’t— _wouldn't_ —manipulate Hutch like that. He breathed out, rolled off, and lay on his back next to Hutch. He stared at the ceiling and wondered what the fuck he'd do now. 

Hutch patted him on the thigh, then got to his feet. Starsky watched as he checked on the young man, who was starting to stir, and collected the gun he'd knocked to the floor. He also examined the hand grenade. "Pin's still in," he said to Starsky as he walked over to him and extended his arm.

"Terrific." Starsky accepted the help and was pulled to his feet. For just a moment, he rested against Hutch's strong body. It was time to end the fantasy he'd been playing in his head. If Hutch ever wanted him, he'd be there. But he wouldn't force it, wouldn't play with him like that. He pulled out his cuffs and headed for the man on the floor.

*

oooOOOooo

*

Huggy looked up from the paper as the door opened. He saw it was Hutch who had arrived, dressed in his running clothes. "We're not open." Huggy returned to his paper.

"Would you deny a man water?"

"When he's crazy enough to go running at this time of the morning? Yes, I would."

"It's not that early." Hutch sat down across from Huggy at the table.

"It is for what you're doing." 

"Food, too, if you have it."

Huggy eyed him. "Of course we have it, although it's not your kind of disgustingly healthy food."

"Eggs?"

Huggy raised his eyebrows, and then his voice: "Angie?"

"Yeah?" Angie's voice carried from the back.

"Bring water! And eggs for my friend here!"

Hutch smiled. "You're a lifesaver, Hug."

"And more coffee!"

A grunt came from the back.

Huggy looked at Hutch. "Just don't eat it loudly in front of me."

"Fragile head?"

"It was a late night, yeah." He returned to his paper. 

Hutch pilfered the front page but remained mercifully quiet as he read, then drank, then ate when his food appeared. By the time Huggy was on his third cup of coffee, he began to notice that Hutch was too quiet. He eyed the blond one from across his coffee cup. There were shadows under his eyes, and while he still had a bit of a glow from his run, his skin was paler than it used to be. He had noticed for some time that Hutch seemed preoccupied and unhappy, but there had never been an opportunity to probe. Starsky had said Hutch was all right, but Huggy wasn't certain about that. He'd never doubted Starsky's ability to read his partner, but then Starsky had been behaving oddly for the past few weeks, too.

"Eggs all right?" he finally asked Hutch.

"What? Oh…yeah. Perfect."

Huggy sighed, set his coffee cup down, crossed his arms. "All right. I'm ready. Lay it on me."

Hutch look confused. "Lay what on you?"

Huggy wasn't fooled. "You only run in this direction if you're brooding. You only come inside if the run didn't help clarify things. I know that. You know that. I've had enough coffee now. Lay it on me."

"Am I really that predictable?"

"Yes, but don't get contrary on me because I know that. I've had all these years to observe you, you know! Anyway, you need to talk, I'm good at listening, so let's do it."

Hutch smiled a little, then looked away. "Oh, it's nothing, really. Not a crisis or anything, I just don't know what to do—what's best."

"About what?"

"About? Well, it's about…a…a plant." Hutch briefly looked at Huggy, then away again.

Huggy leaned back in his chair. "A plant."

"Yes."

"You ran all this way brooding—"

"I don't brood."

"—Over a plant?"

"Look, if you're going to judge—"

Huggy raised his hands. "No, no. I don't judge. What's wrong with this plant?"

"Nothing's wrong with it. Its just not…um… Well, it's rare. It needs careful handling and care. And I think…" Hutch paused and stared into space for a few moments. "I think I could make it…stronger by… But I don't want to change its essential nature." His eyes shifted to Huggy. "You know?"

"Hmm." He stared at Hutch and thought about the conversation he'd had with Starsky some time ago.

"Huggy!" It was Angie from the back. "Delivery needs your signature!"

Hutch pushed his plate away, and got to his feet. "Thanks for the water and eggs, Huggy." He was again not looking at Huggy. "And for listening. I just—"

"Hey," Huggy interrupted him. He stood as well. "I got to go, but—" He broke off, patted Hutch on the arm. "Tell him, okay?"

Hutch's brows drew together. "'Him'?"

"Huggy!" Angie's shout rose in volume.

Huggy let himself smile slightly. "It. Him. It's all about the talking, right?" He nodded, then turned and headed for the kitchen.

*

oooOOOooo

*

_Just tell him._

Had Huggy guessed? No, surely not. Hutch was having a hard enough time coming to terms himself with his overwhelming desire for sex with Starsky. Huggy couldn't know. He was given to saying random, odd things. It had to be that. But it was still sound advice: just tell Starsky. Hutch tried to imagine how it would go:

"Starsk, I want to go to bed with you. I want to make love with you. I think it could be really—" No.

"Starsky, I love you. You know that. But I mean something different by that now." No.

"Starsky, we already spend all our time together, why not—?" No.

"Starsky, let's fuck." Yeah. No.

He couldn't see how telling Starsky would be anything other than a bad idea. It would be a sure fire way to mess up the one perfect thing in his life. Why the hell couldn't he just forget about it, then? Go back to how it was in the academy, before it got complicated, before John Blaine, before…he'd felt Starsky's erection against his own. _Shit._ A car honked at the same time that Hutch realized he didn't have the right of way at the intersection. He put his hand on the light pole and leaned on it as he caught his breath. Starsky really wouldn't like it if he killed himself, or landed in the hospital, while out on a run. Although it would mean an end to this endless circling of his thoughts.

The walk sign lit up and Hutch eased back into a slow jog. He had to settle this situation, one way or another. He couldn't go on speculating, wondering, dashing his own hopes only to see them rise again. What if he told him? He knew Starsky wouldn't cut the friendship, he knew that. What was he afraid of, then? Starsky's face rose before his eyes, and he cringed a bit at the imagined expressions. He was afraid of shock, awkwardness, self-consciousness on both their parts. Could they really forget it if Starsky said no? Even worse, what if Starsky said yes just because he saw how important it was to Hutch? Oh, Starsky was no fool—he'd say no before he'd say a yes he was unsure of, but he might say yes to an experiment, just to please Hutch. And that could lead to a dashed hope that there would be no coming back from. 

Okay. He needed to resolve the situation, but he couldn't just come right out and talk with Starsky about it. At least, not without a lot of preparation first. Yeah, that was it. He needed to hoe the ground, spread some fertilizer, plant the seeds. Hutch slowed down to a walk as he neared his building. Ideally, he'd encourage Starsky to think about the possibilities before they ever talked. Maybe even nudge him into making the first move. But would he do it? Would Starsky ever…? He would once have said such thoughts would never enter Starsky's head, but he had caught some odd looks on Starsky's face in the last few months or so. And he hadn't shied away from Hutch that day with the grenade when adrenaline and Starky's proximity had betrayed him. There was enough that had happened for Hutch to think the possibility existed. Possibly. All he knew for certain was that he had to be very, very sure of the answer before he would risk their friendship. Starsky was susceptible to his influence. He just needed to…cultivate him. Carefully. How hard could it be?

Two weeks later, Hutch didn't know if his depression was due to the stupid cold he had caught or the complete failure of his plan. It was probably both, but the failure's influence would stay longer, he suspected. First, he had tried cautiously talking about homosexuality and how cultural pressures might mean you didn't realize your true feelings, or that sexuality might be more of a spectrum than an either/or. Starsky had looked at him as if he'd suddenly joined the IA boys. Second, he'd tried simply getting a little closer than usual—the subtle approach, given how often they invaded each other's space and boundaries. He had been worried Starsky wouldn't even notice, which was why it had been his backup plan. It seemed he'd been right to doubt the plan. Starsky, it was true, _had_ been avoiding his touch recently, but he claimed it was because of cold germs, and Hutch really couldn't fault him for that. His backup backup plan had been to cook dinner for Starsky—all his favorite dishes—to put him in a good, compliant mood. The plan had gotten hazy at that point, but it didn't matter, because it had been completely derailed by the cold, and it would probably be best all around if the incipient pneumonia would just do away with him and put him out of his misery. Starsky would miss him, of course, but at least he'd never know what a fool his partner was.

He heard a knock on his door, and closed his eyes because he knew, beyond any doubt, who was visiting him. 

"Hutch! You alive in there!"

"Yeah, yeah." He climbed to his feet, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders, and shuffled towards the door. Naturally, Starsky let himself just before Hutch reached the door. He sighed and headed back to the couch.

"You look terrible." Starsky looked disgustingly vibrant and healthy. He was carrying a large steel pot.

"If you're going to state the obvious, you can just go back to wherever you came from and leave me to die in peace." He sat down on the couch and coughed.

"You're not gonna die, it's just a cold. Anyway, I brought you something." Starsky flourished the pot and grinned.

"Is that Huggy's mustard—"

"Would I do that to you?" Starsky scowled as he headed towards the kitchen. "No, _this_ is Jewish chicken soup. It's the real McCoy. I'm just going to reheat it, hang on." Noises came from the kitchen.

"Do you even know how to turn on the stove?" Hutch reached for more kleenex. 

"Do I know—? Of _course_ I know that! There! All turned on." Starsky walked back into the living room, promptly turned around, rummaged in the kitchen and returned with a waste basket. "Here. All that." He pointed at the mound of kleenex on the coffee table, then set the waste basket down next to Hutch.

"You're not going to do it for me?" Hutch scooped up tissues and put them in the waste basket. "Chicken."

"I may love you, Blondie, but I'm not catching your cold."

After a moment, Hutch said: "You probably already have." He knew he'd taken too long to respond, but it was hard to speak when your heart suddenly leaped into your throat.

Starsky leaned forward and looked at him. "Are you okay?"

Hutch waved a hand at him, which seemed to reassure Starsky, because the bounce was back in his step as he headed back to the kitchen. "Just you wait, you're going to be better in a jiffy."

"The Jewish penicillin is not real penicillin, you know."

"No, it's better!" Hutch heard the sound of metal against metal. "Ah…perfect." 

"I'm really not hungry, Starsk."

Starsky came out of the kitchen carrying a big bowl and a spoon. "Don't argue." He set the bowl carefully down on the coffee table, then suddenly held up his hand. "Napkin." He returned to the kitchen.

"I think I can—" Before Hutch could finish the sentence, Starsky was back with a paper towel.

"Here you go." Starsky handed Hutch the towel and the spoon. "Dig in."

Starsky looked so eager that Hutch automatically accepted the spoon. The soup did smell good—even penetrating his clogged sinuses—and it looked as if there were chunks of vegetables and— "What is that, matzo balls?"

"Yeah. Told you, this is the real thing."

Hutch, about to dip his spoon in the soup, suddenly stopped and looked at Starsky. "Wait a minute, didn't you say this soup made your stomach hurt?"

"What? No. Oh!" Starsky snapped is fingers. "You're thinking about Aunt Rosie's chicken soup. This is _Mrs. Gerschel's_ chicken soup."

"Who's Mrs. Gerschel?" Hutch took a bit of broth onto his spoon and tested it. It tasted even better than it smelled. He tried some more.

"Neighbor of ours when I was a kid. I called my mother and asked if she had her recipe. Everyone on the block swore by her soup."

"You made this?" Hutch's stomach was informing him that it had been far too long since he had last eaten, and he ought to eat as much as he could right now.

Starsky's smile looked a bit sheepish. "No. I had them make it at Huggy's. But it _is_ authentic!"

Hutch ate the whole serving, then leaned back and looked at Starsky, who was perched on the coffee table.

"Better?" Starsky's gaze was warm, his eyes filled with affection.

Hutch smiled a little, feeling something like an ache in his heart. He would sacrifice everything just to keep that expression on Starsky's face. "Not better," he said. "But I'll be fine." No more plans, no more games. He'd learn to live with half a loaf, be uncle to Starsky's kids, stay Starsky's partner.

*

oooOOOooo

*

Starsky washed away the debris from the grenade explosion in the showers at Metro. Joey had been taken into custody and likely psychiatric evaluation and care. Kira had disappeared after they had given their initial reports to Dobey and had been dismissed until tomorrow. Maybe Dobey had noticed their exhaustion. Maybe he hadn't wanted to witness any more arguments or cold silences. But there had been none of that in the aftermath of the job. It had taken the two of them working together to subdue Joey and catch and throw the primed grenade. Property had been damaged, but no one had been injured. Perhaps, if they had been working together from the start— Starsky shook his head in the stream of water. It was no use thinking like that. What was done was done. The important thing was where they went from here.

He found a tired-looking Hutch dressing by his locker when he emerged from the shower. There were were bruises coming up on Hutch's arm and torso. He glanced at Starsky, then his gaze slid away. Starsky felt something tighten in his throat. "You okay?" he asked, looking for something to say, wondering how it had gotten so awkward between them.

Hutch shrugged. "I'm fine." He pulled on a shirt and started buttoning it. "Glad to get the dust and dirt off. Looking forward to going…home." He still didn't look at Starsky.

"Yeah." Starsky opened his locker and pulled on the clothes he kept stored there. Were they just going to go their separate ways? Like two men who worked together but weren't— "Hey. Can we…go get a burger, or something?"

Hutch looked at him quickly. "Aren't you going with—?" He broke off before he could complete the question, and lowered his eyes. Starsky didn't fill the pause that followed. He really didn't want to talk about Kira right now. Eventually, Hutch said, "I'd like that. But, there's um… There's not much open. It's late."

"Oh. Yeah." It had taken them a long time to get clear of the scene. He glanced at the clock and saw it was after two in the morning.

Hutch looked at him again. "Do you have anything to eat at your place?"

Starsky's heart gave a little lurch. "Yeah. Well, maybe nothing you'd like. Cold pizza?" He said it hopefully, wanting Hutch to say yes—willing him to do so.

"Yeah. Okay. Good." Hutch looked as if he'd wanted to say something more, but didn't.

"Great! I'll…see you there, then." They had, of course, driven separately to work.

"Yeah," Hutch said. Starsky turned away, but stopped as Hutch said his name and put a hand on his arm. Hutch held his gaze for a long moment. "I’m glad you're safe."

Starsky blinked, nodded, then left the locker room. He didn't know what to say, didn't know what he felt. He remembered very clearly Hutch signaling him to stay back when they had both been approaching Joey. At the time, he had assumed it was Hutch's usual over-protective streak, and had ignored it as he always did. It had only been later, on the way to Metro, that the insidious thought had entered his mind that maybe Hutch had been trying to impress Kira. He grimaced as he approached the Torino. How the hell had it gotten so messed up between them that he'd questioned Hutch's instincts? He _knew_ better. But then, it had been as if he'd been working with a stranger for days. 

He climbed into the car, and rubbed his face with his hands before he put the key in the ignition. They had to straighten this out, get back to normal before they hit the streets again. That meant talking it out, he knew, but he was wary—oh so wary—about that. He'd waited all night to talk with Hutch the other day, and that had ended disastrously. He still couldn't believe how unprofessional Hutch had been—abandoning their plan in order to stay with Kira. And he flinched at that thought, because that touched upon the deeper betrayal and he didn't want to think about that, didn't want to feel it all again. He started the car, headed for home.

 _I'm glad you're safe._ Had there been an apology in Hutch's eyes? He didn't know. There had been something that reminded him of the old days, just as the gesture itself had done. And Hutch had wanted to go to his house, even with only leftover pizza to eat. It felt like the world was sliding back into place, or getting closer to it. Maybe. And that was why he had to think about Hutch and Kira, get it out of his system before Hutch came over. Or decide he couldn't and… What? End it between them? End the partnership? No. Never.

It was over with Kira, he knew that. He'd watched her crawl across the floor to Joey and realized he didn't care anymore. When he'd caught the grenade, his first thought had been to get it away from Hutch, who'd jumped Joey. He had instinctively covered Kira with his own body during the explosion, but he'd made no move to stop her when she'd gone to Joey. He was angry with Kira for sleeping with Hutch, blamed her for a lot of what had happened, but the anguish he felt was because of Hutch. His stomach tightened at the thought, accompanied by a feeling of dislocation. How the hell had it gotten so fucked up? 

He forced himself to go through it in his head. He'd been dating Kira for a little less than a month. He'd fallen in love— No. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. No. He had liked her—a lot. But he hadn't fallen in love, not until he'd seen them together, excluding him. And now he knew it hadn't been love he'd been feeling. At the time, though…and he'd _told_ Hutch. But Hutch… The light at the intersection suddenly turned red and Starsky applied the brake forcefully. _Calm down. Focus._

He'd told Hutch he loved Kira in order to warn Hutch off. That was the truth. He knew Kira wasn't in love him, would never want to be tied down. _He_ didn't want to be tied down. Not with her. She had even hinted, early on, that she'd be up for a threesome. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them as the car behind him honked. He moved on through the intersection, wondering why some other fool was out driving at two in the morning. A threesome. He'd thought about it. He'd thought about it a lot. But it had never gotten beyond the thinking stage. And he knew now, beyond any doubt, that he didn't want to share. Only, it wasn't Kira he didn't want to share.

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Because that was the real problem, the real heartache that had never gone away. Maybe that was why everything was so fucked up. Starsky bit his lip. It was the same old conundrum. He still didn't want to risk hurting Hutch. The partnership. Be honest: he didn't want to hurt himself. It hadn't worked. They had to clear the poison, make a cut right down to the bone, if necessary. Find out what had happened and fix it. He nodded to himself, his jaw set.

*

oooOOOooo

*

Hutch paused outside the door to Starsky's apartment. Should he knock? He'd spent the drive purposely not thinking about what he'd say, and here he was stymied at the first moment. Fuck. He closed his eyes for a moment. He wanted everything to be as it had been. No, he wanted— He couldn't think about what he wanted. He could only try to fix the damage he'd done. If he suffered for all he couldn't have, well, that was only right, wasn't it? He let himself into Starsky's apartment.

"In the kitchen," Starsky called to him. "You want your pizza hot or cold?"

"Cold." Hutch stopped by the couch in the living room.

Starsky appeared at the entrance to the kitchen. "Really?"

Hutch shrugged. "I'll relive my college days. Have you got beer?"

Starsky rolled his eyes. "Of course." He went back into the kitchen.

Hutch stayed in the living room, absorbing the sounds of Starsky in the kitchen, and the familiarity of his home. Gradually, the tight knot in his belly eased a bit. Starsky had wanted to eat with him, had asked if he was all right in the locker room. By all rights, Starsky should be shunning him. Hutch tilted his head back, closed his eyes. What the fuck had he done? What the fuck?

"Here you go." 

Hutch looked round to see Starsky holding out a plate and a bottle of beer. He stared at Starsky, caught by his beauty and the lack of condemnation in his eyes. "I'm sorry." His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears.

Starsky stared at him. He set down the pizza and beer on the coffee table, then straightened. "For what?"

Hutch felt himself smile a little as he shook his head, and searched for adequate words and failed to find them. "Everything?"

Starsky looked down. "I didn't…understand what was happening."

"I know, I know. I—" He didn't know how to finish the sentence. He didn't understand himself or his actions. He hadn't wanted Kira, the sex had proven that. But at the time… She had so clearly wanted him. Unlike…unlike… "You love her." He couldn't look at Starsky, he could barely breathe through the constriction in his throat and chest.

"I said I did. It didn't matter to you."

"It did. I went to see her, trying to figure it out. Reconcile what you'd said, with her actions."

"You're blaming her?" Starsky's voice was neutral.

"No." Hutch shook his head. "But," he forced himself to meet Starsky's gaze," she doesn't love you the way you need to be loved. The way you deserve. She—"

"I know." Starsky walked away a few steps, towards the patio door, then turned to face Hutch. "It's you—"

"You trusted me. And I… Failed. Betrayed— But Kira was—"

"Was a substitute."

"All over me. I didn't—I couldn't understand. I wanted her and hated her at the same time. That's no excuse, I know, but—" Hutch broke off, backtracked to what Starsky had said. "What?" He looked at Starsky, who was standing very still, his expression serious.

"She was a substitute."

Hutch felt himself frown. "For what?"

Starsky swallowed. "You."

"Me?" He didn't understand what Starsky was trying to say. "You…wanted her as a partner…?" Oh, God, had it gone that deep? Had he been as wrong as that? "Starsky, I—"

"No, you—" Starsky stopped speaking as he took a step forward, flung an arm up. "She's tall and beautiful and golden." Starsky reached out, then let his hand drop. "Like _you._ ” 

Hutch went still. The entire world went still.

"Hutch?" Starsky licked his lips. He looked pale. "Say something. It doesn't matter, I promise you it doesn't matter."

"It matters." Was that his own voice?

"I can— I just need you to know, because I fucked it up so badly. Hutch, I—"

"You don't love her."

Starsky closed his eyes for a moment. "No. I made myself believe I did."

"I was so angry, jealous—"

Starsky's whole body slumped.

Hutch walked to him, grabbed his shoulders. "I was angry and jealous. She was going to hurt you. I wanted her out of your life, but I wanted her, too—because you'd had her."

Starsky stared at him, his mouth open. "You—wanted—?" There was dawning realization on his face. "You ass—"

Hutch kissed him, and he felt Starsky's immediate response. He moved his hands to cradle Starsky's head. Starsky's arms closed around him and pulled him close. They were kissing—kissing!—the thought sang through his mind, ignited his blood. This was no imagined fantasy, this was Starsky's mouth and tongue, Starsky's strength matching his own. He meant to break the kiss—slow down—talk, but Starsky's hands were running up and down his back, and there was a delicious pressure against his rapidly filling cock, and he didn't want to stop, not ever. He got his hand between them but rather than push Starsky away, he undid the buttons on his shirt and spread his fingers over his chest, feeling hair and muscle and heat. He moaned as he felt Starsky undoing his own shirt buttons, unzipping his pants. Bed, they should go to bed, but when he tried to maneuver them in the direction of the bedroom, Starsky seemed to want to move in a different direction. They swayed, then stumbled, then Hutch lost his balance and fell to the floor, pulling Starsky down with him.

"Jeez, Hutch." 

"Starsky!" The kiss was broken, but not Starsky's hold on Hutch, nor his on Starsky. Starsky started to laugh and, after a moment, Hutch joined in. And somehow, even though that should have slowed things between them, he found himself kissing Starsky again, and Starsky's hand had found his cock. Hutch groaned and pumped into that warm first, all sensation narrowed down to the rush building within him, and the sweet knowledge that it was Starsky he was holding so close. Starsky wouldn't break, no matter how much Hutch leaned on him, depended on him. Starsky wouldn't break. And then he was coming—messily, joyfully. He buried his mouth into Starsky's neck, eyes closed, and held on to that moment as long as he could.

"'S okay, 's okay. I've got you," Starsky whispered.

Hutch smiled, shaking his head a little, amazed even though he knew better. Of course Starsky would know exactly what to say. Of course. To be known so well… He lifted his head, kissed Starsky, then moved down his body with his mouth and tongue while his hands pushed Starsky's jeans away.

"Hutch. Please." Starsky arched beneath him.

"Be patient," Hutch said.

"Easy…God…for you…to say."

"What is it you want Starsk, huh? Perhaps this?" He stroked along Starsky's cock, took pleasure in the jolt that produced in Starsky. "Or this." He took Starsky's cock into his mouth. It had been a long time since he had done this, and never for someone he loved like Starsky. It made a difference, oh God, it did. He gloried in every sound Starsky made, every tremor in his body, even in the control he was exerting not to thrust hard into Hutch's mouth and throat. He made it as good for him as he could, with hands and mouth and tongue, and finally Starsky lost control, but Hutch took over and brought him to release. Afterwards, he crawled up Starsky's body, and Starsky took his mouth, fingers buried in Hutch's hair.

"How long?” Starsky finally murmured against Hutch's mouth. He pulled back a little from Hutch but kept his fingers in Hutch's hair.

Hutch, on his back, sighed and nuzzled Starsky's arm. "A long time. Forever, it seems."

"I didn't know."

Hutch laughed a little, although he felt a sadness beneath the laugh. "It wasn't something I wanted you to find out about."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

'You were afraid."

"Damn right I was." Hutch reached up and took Starsky's hand from his hair. He kissed the palm and released it, eyes on Starsky. "I had reason."

Starsky nodded. His lashes lowered over his eyes.

"But then it seemed… Well, it seemed there might be a chance, if I was careful. I tried to sort of maneuver you—" He stopped as Starsky gave a short laugh. "What?" He slowly sat up. Starsky stayed close to him, also sitting on the floor.

"I tried the same thing. Didn't work."

Hutch frowned. "When?"

"Remember that grenade that didn't go off?"

"When you ended up on top of me? I remember I had to hide— Wait a minute. You mean you wanted me to make a move _then_?”

"Maybe not one of my brighter ideas."

Hutch touched Starsky's face with his fingers. "You didn't try after that?"

Starsky shook his head. "I realized I didn't want to maneuver you."

"And you couldn't tell me."

Starsky's eyes dropped for a moment, then met Hutch's gaze. "No. At least, not without— It's a big deal for me."

"And it wouldn't have been for…?" But Hutch's voice trailed off, and it was his turn to look away.

"I couldn't have taken…indulgence."

Hutch nodded, his throat tight once again. He understood.

"Hey." Starsky reached out and turned Hutch's face back towards him. "I was also afraid that… I didn't know how _I'd_ react. It was both a shock and not a shock at all when I realized this was what I wanted. It took me a long time to figure it out, and even longer to act on it. I didn't want you thinking it was just a…an…"

"Experiment?"

"Yeah. And—" Starsky shrugged, his worry evident on his face. "I couldn't know until we'd tried it."

"Aw, Starsk." He leaned forward and kissed him. "I could have taken that. Even one time would've been enough."

Starsky looked at him. "Honest?"

Hutch opened his mouth to say yes, but he saw the truth in Starsky's eyes. He hadn't reacted well to Kira, had he? "Maybe not. Anyway, I came to the same conclusion—didn't want to maneuver _you_. I thought I could live with unrequited…desire."

"It stinks, doesn't it?"

Hutch smiled. "Yeah." He looked down again. "I didn't want to risk our partnership. But then—"

Starsky took hold of Hutch's upper arms, shook him a little. "Nothing will do that. I knew that when the grenade went off today. All I was thinking was that I needed to keep you safe."

"I wanted you to stay out of it with Joey."

"Yeah, I know. But it took the two of us to save the day, just like always."

"Me and thee."

He saw the smile in Starsky's eyes. He saw his whole world in Starsky's eyes. "Yeah." But he couldn't leave it alone, could he? "And Kira?"

"We should've talked."

Hutch closed his eyes. "I should've listened—"

Starsky interrupted him. "No, dummy." He moved forward, his head cupping Hutch's head. "We should've talked when we realized what it was we wanted. We were both too scared. For me, I…just didn't know. My worst case scenario was we try the experiment, and you want it and I…don't."

Hutch looked at him. "Do you?"

Starsky's grip tightened a little. "Yeah."

"But?" 

"Okay, so we can't promise how this is going to turn out. Neither of us. But we can _try_. And it's a damn sight better to risk it than to play the stupid games we've been playing."

Hutch put his hand over Starsky's. "I love you."

"And I love you."

"There are never any guarantees. It's a rotten world out there, and most people won't give us a chance. But I can promise to be honest with you. Now. Always."

Starsky nodded, and bit his lip as he smiled. "Me too."

"I, uh, was trying to get us to your bed earlier." He brought Starsky's hand to his lips. "Want to give it a try?"

"I was headed for the couch myself."

"Bed's bigger."

"Not bigger than the floor. But definitely more comfortable." He pushed himself to his feet, then looked down at himself. "I'm a mess."

Hutch grinned. "Yeah, you are." He climbed to his feet, wincing a little at the state of his own clothes. He stepped out of his pants.

"It's your fault."

Hutch thought about it. "I could help with that…in the shower?"

Starsky paused in the middle of tugging his jeans over his foot. "That might be interesting."

"Just trying to broaden your experiences." 

"I think my experiences will translate just fine, judging by your reactions earlier."

"I could give you a few pointers."

"So could I." Starsky stalked over to him, completely nude. Hutch swallowed, and knew Starsky saw his reaction.

"Unfair."

"You're telling me?" Starsky pushed Hutch's shirt off, then traced the lines of his collarbone. "I think we're both sunk."

Hutch caught his breath as Starsky followed his fingers with his mouth, and a stray thought occurred to him: "You know, that's what Huggy was telling me."

"That we're sunk?"

"No, that I should be telling you. 'Tell him,' he said to me, although—"

"What?" Starsky raised his head. "Huggy told you to tell me?" His voice rose a little on the words.

"Yeah—well, no. I mean he didn't know it was you I was talking about, but I—"

"He told me the same thing."

Hutch's brows drew together. "What?"

"He thought—I _thought_ he thought—I was talking about a guy with a car I wanted, but—"

"Huggy knows you wouldn't be looking for another car."

"Well, I told him it was a _hypothetical_ car."

"Oh, God. He knows."

"What'd he tell you?"

"To—" Hutch broke off, suddenly realizing he didn't want to explain this to Starsky.

Starsky, as always, read him too well. "What did he think you were talking about?"

"A, uh, plant."

"A plant."

"A really rare, _exotic_ plant."

"A _plant_. You couldn't have made me a, I don't know, a motorcycle or something? No, with my luck it would've been a moped. Never mind." Starsky waved his hand and headed for the bathroom.

"Okay, but you're losing track of the more important thing." Hutch followed him.

Starsky turned at the doorway. "What?"

Hutch ran his fingers over Starsky's chest hair.

"Don't get distracted."

"Huggy was trying to play matchmaker."

Starsky winced. "That doesn't help."

"No, but…maybe we can put on a little show for him." Hutch drew in his breath. "And Kira, too."

"Kira?" There was a trace of uncertainty in Starsky's voice. 

Hutch leaned forward and kissed him thoroughly before he stepped back. "Did she tell you she wanted to meet at 3:00 tomorrow?"

"What?" Starsky seemed intent on Hutch's nipple. He rubbed it with a finger. "Oh, yeah."

Hutch captured the finger. "Stop that—just for a moment—and listen. She asked me, too. Same time."

Starsky frowned. "What for?"

"Maybe she's trying, in her own way, to make it right. Getting us all together."

"Or maybe she wants a threesome."

"A—what?"

"She's talked about it."

"Really?" There was a sudden knot in Hutch's stomach. "Do you—?"

Starsky kissed him, hard. "You should know I don't share."

Hutch rubbed his lips with his fingers. "You share with me all the time."

"That's you. So, what do you have in mind?"

"I'm thinking we meet with Kira at Huggy's. And we put on a little show of us not getting along, letting her get between us, having to make a choice."

"She won't choose."

"That's right." Hutch smiled.

Starsky smiled back. "Okay. C'mon, Blintz, let's try some more of this sharing right now. We'll work out the details."

Hutch followed Starsky into the bathroom. "It might take a long time, given the…distractions."

"That's right. So, let's see how good you are at…focus."

*

oooOOOooo

*

Huggy's attention was riveted to the threesome in front of him. Starchy and Hutch had been acting weirdly since they'd arrived. Now, having met Kira, he was beginning to understand. Although why those two turkeys didn't realize—

"No," Kira said, shaking her head at Hutch. 

"No," Hutch agreed.

"No," Kira said again.

"No." It was Starsky's turn to contribute to the conversation.

Kira turned her head towards him: "No."

Starsky and Hutch looked at each other, shook their heads. "Okay!" They said together, then wrapped their arms around each other's shoulders and walked out the door.

Kira stared straight ahead. "What?"

Huggy didn't even try to keep the huge smile off his face. Relief and amusement and—yes—even some joy were flooding through him. Trust those two to do it their own way. 

Kira turned around to look at him. "What?"

"That's Starsky and Hutch for you." Huggy poured her a beer and placed it in front of her. "On the house."

"What's this for?" She picked up the glass.

He wanted to say it was for her matchmaking abilities, but he recalled Starsky saying she worked on the force, and they'd need to be a little more careful now. "Consolation prize?"

She laughed a little. "I don't really think I need it." Yet there was something in her eyes that spoke of regret.

"Well, then." Huggy poured himself a half glass and saluted her with it. "Let's drink to…new romances."

"I will drink to that." She clicked her glass with his,

Huggy smiled, and in his head he toasted the future for Starsky and Hutch.

THE END  
December 2014


End file.
